


Only in One

by jensennjared



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-03
Updated: 2015-12-03
Packaged: 2018-05-04 19:34:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5346053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jensennjared/pseuds/jensennjared
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After painstakingly decorating the tree, Dean discovers that they are without a tree topper. Dean and Castiel set off in search of the right ornament.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Only in One

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for day 5 of the Destiel Christmas Mini Bang (http://destielchristmasminibang.tumblr.com). The prompt given was Angel.

After a long, laborious hunt through boxes in the basement, Dean had unearthed a crate of disused decorations, buried deep many Christmases ago. They must have belonged to the Men of Letters from generations past, and unlike many things Dean had unknowingly inherited, he was happy to have discovered them. There were intricate baubles crafted from slivers of coloured glass, and some much cruder designs whittled from wood. Wreaths of tinsel had slithered to the bottom of the box coated in thick dust. He’d found a hoard of cinnamon scented candles, burnt down to the end of their wicks, and a string of popcorn dusted with glitter. Long forgotten sprigs of dried and decayed mistletoe had been dropped into the boxes carelessly, the memory of spurned kisses imprinted on their leaves.

Dean carried the crates with care up several floors and into the library. Sam was planted in a leather, wing backed chair, engrossed in a first edition of  _A Christmas Carol._ A few days ago, he’d gone searching through the stacks and had stumbled across the bunker’s extensive collection of first editions — the Dickens classic seemed to be the most appropriate choice for a winter read.

The brothers were easing themselves, perhaps a little begrudgingly, into the festive season. It was their first Christmas in a place they had set down roots — a place not picked at random from the yellow pages, a place bereft of a flashing neon sign declaring ‘vacancies’ out front. The bunker was their home, and it was time to celebrate Christmas in the right way — with a few Winchester traditions thrown in.

Dean’s heavy tread across the floor roused Sam from his Dickensian daydream, and his eyes went wide at the sight of Dean laden with boxes, a tinsel boa wrapped around his neck.

“Any luck?” Sam asked, a sarcastic tone to his voice. Placing a bookmark within its pages, Sam left the book on the table and made his way over to Dean.

“You can say that again. There’s piles of this crap in the basement — enough to deck every hall in the goddamn state.” Dean smiled before peeling open the boxes to show Sam.

“Is Cas still getting the tree?”

“Yeah, left this morning. Seemed pretty excited to have something to do. He hadn’t seen daylight in days thanks to you.”

“The guy asked for my Netflix password — it’s not like I could say no.”

“Yeah, well, someone needs to tell him that marathoning a whole season of  _Bones_ ain’t healthy.”

From above, a loud slam reverberated around the bunker, putting the brothers on high alert. The front door was swung wide open, and a flurry of snow rushed inside, flakes falling to the floor half melted from the heat.

“Help!” Castiel cried. Dean whipped a silver knife out of his boot before ascending the stairs quickly, straining his ears for further distress signals. Sam reached for his gun and headed for the staircase, quickly jumping back as a great, green _thing_ shot past him. “Look out!” Castiel’s voice preceded his body as he rushed down the stairs in pursuit of the object that had slipped from his grasp. A second later Dean followed, exasperation obvious.

The tree had darted down the stairs before wiping out a couple of desk chairs. Thankfully, it was unharmed; its branches had been compressed by the mesh surrounding it. Castiel bent down to pick it up, and with a little help from Sam, had it upright in a few seconds.

“Overcompensating, huh Cas?” Dean smirked, commenting on the sheer size of the Christmas tree — it was at least 2 foot taller than Sam, and that was saying something. His rebuttal came in the form of Castiel’s swift, unflinching glare, as the angel whipped around.

“I mean, it is, uh, pretty tall.” Sam said, sharing a smile with his brother, before shrugging. “It’s gonna be a bitch to decorate.”

“Next year, you two can source the tree.” Castiel said, narrowing his eyes at each Winchester in turn.

* * *

After a couple of hours decorating, Dean’s fingers were growing numb and sore from the amount of times he’d pricked them on pine needles. The tree was nearly complete. He hadn’t decorated a Christmas tree in years, not since he was little, and it was something that they’d rarely prioritised. In the hunter calendar — in the Winchester calendar — Christmas wasn’t a huge event. Before the bunker, Dean and Sam had spent most holidays in crappy motel rooms with microwave turkey dinners and, in later years, potently alcoholic eggnog.  Suddenly, it felt surreal to have a tree and decorations — and family — to share the season with.

Rubbing his hand over his face, Dean stepped back to admire their work. The tree towered over them, as tall as it was wide, laced with faded tinsel and covered in mismatching ornaments. They’d done a pretty good job considering the circumstances, and Dean thought that, in a strange way, it suited them.

“Okay, now that that’s done, beer anyone?” Dean clapped his hands together, ready to turn on his heel and head to the kitchen.

“What — no tree topper?” Sam asked, before gesturing to the bare peak at the top of the evergreen. Dean smiled, almost certain that Sam had never before uttered such a ridiculous question.

“There’s gotta be one in the box.”

“What is a,” Castiel interjected, confusion claiming his features, before curling his fingers in air quotation marks, “ _tree topper_?”

“It’s something that sits on top of the tree.” Dean said, rolling his eyes and uncrossing his arms, beginning to root through the leftover boxes.

“Commonly a star or an — an angel.” Sam said, before turning his attention towards Dean. “So?”

“Nope, coming up empty.” Dean sighed, wiping his now dusty hands on his jeans.

“It seems that this  _tree topper_ is important. I have a many number of angels at my disposal should we require one.” Castiel stepped forward slightly, and Dean couldn’t help but smile at his naivety.

“It’s cool — I’m on it.” Dean reached for his jacket, wallet and keys. “I’ll pick something up. Need to do a beer run anyway.”

“I will accompany you.” Castiel began to follow Dean out of the library, preparing himself for the next mission of the day.

“Yeah, I’m gonna stay here, and read.” Sam called after them, a wistful smile playing on his lips, before thumbing through the pages of his book and returning to his chair.

* * *

Dean hadn’t meant to drive all the way into town. He’d fully intended to stop by a local gas station, grab his beer and snatch some kind of tree topper into his basket just before heading to the cashier. However, as they drove through town and dusk set in, Castiel became fascinated by the bright Christmas lights adorning every other house. There was an innocence in his enchantment that took Dean by surprise. It was like introducing a child to their first Christmas, and he guessed that Castiel was the only one among them who hadn’t had their Christmases sullied by demons, devils, and dead parents.

Finally, after allowing Castiel his fill, Dean parked up outside a small store that seemed to leak festivity out onto the sidewalk. In the window, elf figurines shimmied to yuletide music, and fairy lights flashed repetitively in hues of red, green and white.

“I believe we’re on the right track, Dean.” Castiel said, laying a hand on Dean’s shoulder, before heading into the store.

“I reckon so, Cas.” Dean followed Castiel’s lead. The store smelt of sickly, sweet peppermint and gingerbread, and the speakers blared obnoxious music that clashed with the constant drone of the elf figurines. There was a persistent humming sound, perceptible above all the noise, owing to the fake snow machine. Everything was festive — intensely so. They were definitely on the right track. “It’s like Santa’s frickin’ grotto in here.” Dean mumbled beneath his breath.

Dean swallowed his need to make snarky comments and wandered around the store, searching for the right ornament to finish the tree. He would never admit it, but half the stuff wasn’t that bad. Glancing across at Castiel, he noticed the angel had entered into a staring competition with a whole shelf load of other angels.

“Humans truly have no idea what they’re doing.” Castiel said as Dean joined him in appraising the angels’ vacant, ceramic faces. “Do people believe that  _this_ is the form we take?”

“Afraid so, Cas. We monkeys ain’t all that perceptive.”

“Why are all the angels female?” Castiel reached out and plucked one from its shelf, bringing it up closer to his face to inspect it. He noted the feminine features, long curly hair, and embroidered dress.

“People dig holy chicks.” Dean shrugged.

“They all appear the same.” Castiel placed the ornament gingerly back upon the shelf. “Angels — true angels — are not all the same.”

“No, they’re not.” Dean said with a smile, and Castiel turned to face him, pleased to find that Dean agreed. “Well, have you seen any that you want? We still need to get what we came for.” Castiel’s eyes fell from Dean’s face, and he started to search the shelves for the right one. Dean watched him, finding his own fascination in the way Castiel’s eyes darted from figurine to figurine, intent on completing the mission at hand.

Castiel was right — angels aren’t all the same.

“This is the one we should purchase.” Castiel grabbed an angel on the fourth row from the bottom, before handing it to Dean. “It’s different from the rest.”

Holding it in his hands, Dean turned it over a couple of times. “Looks the same to me, Cas.” Rolling it over once more, that’s when Dean noticed it — there was a crack running through the centre of its chest. “There’s a crack in it.”

“Most likely, it came off the line like that. Nevertheless, it is different.”  

“Are you sure this is the one?” Dean said, and Castiel nodded in response. “Alright. I’ll be back in a minute.” Dean turned on his heel and headed to the pay desk, leaving Castiel to continue browsing the store.

The woman behind the desk was grey-haired with bright blue eyes. She seemed to be in her late sixties; her face was round and jolly, and she wore glasses that balanced near the tip of her nose. As soon as she noticed Dean approaching, her smile lit up.

“Hello, young man.” She said, and Dean nodded in response. “Would you like me to wrap that up for you?” She gestured to the angel in Dean’s hands.

“No, it’ll be fine like that, thanks.” Dean said, placing it on the desk before her. “How much do I owe ya?”

“That one is $29.99, alright?”

“Okay,” Dean said, whilst delving into his pockets to retrieve his wallet. “There you go.” He handed over $30 before picking up the figurine and stashing it under his arm.

“Whilst I’ve got you here, I don’t suppose you have any spare change for our church fund? We’re raising money to get the roof fixed.” The shopkeeper smiled, imploring Dean with her kind eyes. “It doesn’t have to be much, and I — I can give you a raffle ticket. The grand prize is a steak dinner at our local diner.”

“Sure, why not?” In truth, the possibility of winning a steak dinner threw Dean over the edge, and he fished another ten dollars out of his wallet before dropping it into the church fund box. The lady handed over the raffle ticket and offered Dean a warm smile.

“The angels will certainly be watching over you now.” She reached out and squeezed his arm, Dean allowing her this brief moment of sentimentality. “Tell me, do you believe in angels?”

At the question, Dean dropped his gaze to the floor, unsure of how to answer. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Castiel pressing the button on an elf figurine, the lights reflecting on his pale skin. Castiel swayed to and fro in time with the music, mirroring the elf’s movements slightly, and Dean smiled.

“Only in one.” He replied.


End file.
